


no one can save me [but you]

by 4beit



Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: BDSM, Breathplay, F/F, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:41:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27712177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/4beit/pseuds/4beit
Summary: you’ve missed the ways philippa can make you ache, can make you hurt, can pull you apart with such precision it should be terrifying.instead, it’s only ever been devastatingly arousing.
Relationships: Michael Burnham/Mirror Philippa Georgiou
Comments: 16
Kudos: 40





	no one can save me [but you]

mercifully, the discovery is at peace. it’s a temporary peace, a reprieve from the events of late and an opportunity for the crew to take a chance to breathe, process and, well, - 

you find yourself standing outside philippa’s quarters. you had been summoned, as philippa likes to do when you’re playing these games – and especially when she’s indulging you in one of your more, perhaps unconventional, enjoyments. not that it’s unconventional for either of you. your philippa, and the philippa you’re falling for now are universes apart in ambitions, and the sadism is certainly different. but, at the core of these two wildly different people, the intention, with you, is the same. you can’t speak for all of philippa’s intentions – certainly not when it comes to her overarching plans for herself and occasional bloodlust. what you can speak for is when you’re in her quarters, when you’re submitting to her, sure there’s more pain and more orgasm denial, but this philippa still gets off on keeping you in check. on keeping you safe. she would never be able to say it, not to your face, but taking control of you, keeping you in her room, on your knees or between her thighs, means that you can not be elsewhere, putting your life on the line. and you suspect she likes that. a lot. 

even just standing here, in the empty corridor, waiting to be allowed into her quarters, you feel your heart beginning to race in nervous anticipation. and while you didn’t expect to be let in right away, seconds pass to minutes and philippa makes you wait. you have no doubt she knows you’re here, is probably watching you, observing you. it’s the sort of thing philippa likes, slightly more overt displays of your willing submission that are innocuous to the passerby but mean everything to her,

to you. 

the door remains closed. 

where impatience should brew in your chest, there is none. in its place, something familiar and welcoming is developing. you stand, not quite at rest, with your hands laced behind your back and your head lowered. it’s deference, a deference that you know philippa enjoys seeing from anyone and everyone, 

but especially you. 

especially you, and especially tonight. 

like this, in a position reserved solely for philippa and the games you play with her, your headspace begins to drift. or, not drift, but you feel your thoughts begin to slow and your life with its pressures and problems, begins to fade away. they’re important, but not pressing. not tonight. you think about that, for a moment. when was the last time when you weren’t haunted by your past, or suffocating under the pressing need to save the future of the universe? months ago? years? 

you’re not sure you could even pin a date. 

although maybe, 

a lifetime ago with a different philippa, wandering a desert planet to open a well. 

maybe that was the last time you were able to take a breath. 

you’re a different person three times over since then. since prison, since two different universes and,

and dying. 

dying and being brought back to life by your mother. 

your _mother_. 

you imagine trying to explain to your past self, the one on that desert planet, all that would happen to them. all that would happen, and all that she would do. 

you shake your head, placing all those thoughts into a different part of your mind because tonight is not the time. tonight is not the time for such self-reflection. not when you’re standing, hands still laced behind your back and head lowered, outside philippa’s room waiting for her to open the door. 

what you’d asked for, her hand around your throat and the calculated throttling that provides a release unlike any other you’ve experienced thus far, doesn’t always need the constructs of the power exchange you and philippa enjoy. in fact, frequently, there is no time for a descent into subspace. a quick and dirty, filthy, fucking was often the most either of you could afford. 

tonight, however, 

tonight promises no distractions. 

in front of you, after a small eternity of waiting and organising your own thoughts, the doors slide apart and a commanding 

“enter.” sets you on fire. 

you walk into the room, hearing the doors slide shut. you’re greeted now by a moment of silence, of your own breathing and philippa’s breathing but nothing else. you’ve missed this, missed the silence you can share and missed the way it’s the calm before a storm. albeit, a storm you’re running straight into, but a storm all the same. you’ve missed the way philippa can make you ache, can make you hurt, can pull you apart with such precision it should be terrifying. 

instead, it’s only ever been devastatingly arousing. 

something you’re already beginning to feel now. there’s a heat between your legs, a slickness - 

“computer,” philippa says and her voice tears you away from your own arousal “privacy mode.” 

you can’t help but smile at that, sure that you’re not the only pair on the ship making use of that feature tonight. 

“something entertaining, michael?” 

you’ve been caught. not that smiling is against protocol, but philippa takes a certain amount of pleasure in reminding you of your place and the nature of the deference you give to her. you hear her stand and your breath catches in your chest at the thought of what’s going to happen next, what you asked her for, what you’ve needed. there are measured steps towards you, each one ratcheting your heart rate higher and higher as philippa crosses the room. you know she does this on purpose. after all, she is a master of manipulation, for better and for worse. and tonight, with the rest of the ship oblivious and quickly falling out of mind, it’s definitely for the better. 

you hear her stop, can see her boots in front of you. 

you want to look up. 

you don’t. 

“no, captain.” 

it was a funny thing, picking the title. philippa, both of them, had always enjoyed using a formal title in these games you played. mistress had worked before, on the shenzhou; but you hesitated to share that title with this philippa, lest you confuse the two. not that it would be easy but subspace is a poorly understood state of mind. philippa had proposed emperor with an amused glint in her eye, as if your flat out refusal to indulge her, was incredibly predictable. and maybe it was. 

in the end, you had agreed upon captain. familiar but not too familiar. a deference. 

it worked. 

philippa’s hand comes to the back of your neck, fingers scratching lightly in your hair for several long seconds before her grip turns vice-like. you suck in a breath, tipping your head back as her pull commands. 

“are you sure about that, michael?” 

it’s your first glimpse of philippa in the better part of a day. the last forty-eight hours had been hectic, to say the least, and your paths had not crossed. whether it was intentional or not, you’re unsure. it had been about a day ago that you messaged philippa on the private network, asking if tonight could be something, 

special. 

avoidance or not, you are here now. you’re here and philippa is standing over you, a hand on the back of your neck and you chance a glance at her eyes. they’re dark, darker still with anticipation, but there is a softness, 

is it a softness?

you’re not sure what you would call it. philippa is hardly ever soft but that is the word that comes to mind “quite sure, captain.” 

the grip on the back of your neck relents and there’s the ghost of a smile across philippa’s face that lasts for half a second before “tell me what you want.” 

she’s going to make you say it. 

of course, she is. 

you have no problem voicing your opinions. you have no problems telling philippa to reign in the blood-thirst; or that saru is deliberately avoiding a course of action that seems daunting. although the latter happens less and less these days. what catches you, what catches you out, 

is the very thing philippa is commanding you to do. 

you can message her, not a problem. 

but saying the words out loud, it’s illogical, it feels foolish to become worked up and mildly embarrassed about being forced to voice what you both know you want, 

but you are embarrassed all the same. 

you swallow hard and look to a point just to the left of - 

“ah, ah,” philippa chides, catching you out “look at me when you speak.” 

you take a breath and then let your gaze drift back to hers. 

“i want,” you start “i want you to choke me; control when, if i get to breathe.” 

now it’s philippa’s turn. you see her breath catch in her chest, you see the shiver of anticipation drop down her spine “ask nicely.” she says, and you hear, oh you hear the command in her tone. 

she wants this. 

“please.” you start, and her hand slips from the back of your head to the side of your neck “please, you know what i want.” 

she does. 

oh, she does. 

you half expect her to start here and now, with one hand around your throat.

but she doesn’t. 

instead, half unexpectedly, she pulls you in for a searing kiss. 

and kissing philippa, no matter the universe, is always heady. it’s always mind-blowing and the best kiss of your life and - 

it feels different tonight. you realise this as she pulls away, as she takes a step back and leaves you free-falling through your own arousal as you take a ragged breath. she feels different tonight in a way that you can’t quite explain nor understand. 

yet. 

“we can always stop.” philippa says. 

“i know captain.” you tell her “if i want to stop, you’ll know.” 

philippa smiles and it’s dangerous, 

she’s dangerous. dangerous in the way that she can only be with you, unrestrained within the bounds of the limits you set for her. 

it’s been so long since you’ve had this, 

with her. 

you’re screwed. 

“back against the wall.” she says, philippa’s hand coming back to your neck, her thumb running a soft pattern as she guides, one step at a time, you back to the wall. you feel it, cool and solid against you; and for half a second philippa continues to trace the soft patterns along your neck before her grip around your windpipe tightens. 

and tightens. 

and tightens. 

you take a strangled attempt at a breath and the struggle is a relief. it’s familiar, a comfort. 

not like essof iv. strapped to that chair, strangling to death in more pain than you had anticipated. that was a nightmare where you’re still not sure if the means justified the ends. 

they did, oh they did. 

but you dream of dying. you dream of dying on essof iv in that chair with no one to revive you, no one to save you. 

this is not like that. 

no. 

here, 

with breath trapped in your chest and your thoughts beginning to race, there is no fear. your hands are curled into fists at your side, a forced calm. you’re not afraid because philippa, here and now, is no one to be afraid of. you can shake your head, you could break her grip and in an instant, 

this game would be done. 

paused. 

over. 

you’ve done it before. you’d come to the edge of a boundary you didn’t know you had. you’d say stop, or, no, otherwise make it known and philippa, 

for all her sadistic tendencies, 

always stops. 

it’s always that easy. for you two, there are no safewords other than “no” and “stop” and occasionally “don’t”. you have never needed more. the nature of your sexual relationship with philippa has never been about assuming other roles and becoming other people. the essence of it has always been about dropping all pretences, of not pretending that what you wanted from each other was anything more complicated that pleasure, drawn out and occasionally mixed with pain or denial. and in those moments where, amongst those desires, you found yourself uncomfortable, it was a simple, no, that could bring you to safe harbour. 

at those moments, philippa is gentle, she can ground you, guide you back to yourself. and here, with philippa’s hand around your throat, lovingly strangling you, you’re safe. 

safer than anywhere else, 

of that you’re sure. 

your vision is swimming, supernovas collapsing in the room around you and you twist, a meaningless attempt to get air, a move you’ve done so many times before and yet this time, 

this time philippa is ripping her hand away from your throat with a look of horror settling onto her face. she looks so alarmed, so shaken that despite your gasping, despite bending double in a need to breathe and collect yourself, 

you’re looking around. 

you’re looking around the room for the cause of her alarm. you see nothing out of the ordinary. no one has appeared or even knocked. there was no turbulence. the air is the same ambient temperature it has been. even the smell is the same. 

there’s no threat you can see; and when you look at philippa, standing stock still with eyes wide and breath coming in sharper gasps than you’ve ever seen, 

she is staring at you. 

her gaze is fixed, locked, on you. 

“philippa,” you say carefully, taking one step towards her at a time “philippa talk to me.” you’re fighting to keep your voice collected and steady because you have never, 

or almost never, 

seen philippa like this before. 

her eyes are bright with what you alarmingly recognise as tears. her hands are curled around the edge of her desk and you can see her white knuckle grip. her silence is deafening against the sounds of your own breathing and you wrack your brain, trying to understand what could have brought this on. 

a memory? 

that’s the obvious answer and, oh. 

oh. 

it doesn’t take you long to understand that maybe you were not the only one who had passing thoughts of the events on essof iv. 

you haven’t spoken to philippa about what happened. or, you have spoken to her about the events of essof iv, but there has been a distinct lack of conversation around what happened to you on essof iv. 

death. 

three minutes of death via suffocation. 

and here you had asked her to strangle you all over again. 

okay. 

you feel more grounded with something like an answer. 

“philippa,” you keep your voice level “philippa,” you’re standing in front of her now. you’re less than a foot from her. 

she doesn’t move. 

you reach out, one hand curling along philippa’s forearm, sliding down until your hand covers hers completely. you pause, waiting there, judging her reaction but, 

but there is none. 

your worry deepens. 

you unfurl her hand from the edge of the table and hold it in your own. you look at philippa, “look at me.” you say “philippa, look at me.” it’s not a command but there’s an edge, enough to shake philippa from her haze. 

she looks at you. 

“i’m alive,” you tell her, bringing her hand back towards your neck. 

she stiffens. 

you feel her start to pull her arm back, but you’re ready for this, you’re ready and you keep hold saying gently “trust me. trust me, philippa.” you have an idea, a plan; but she has to trust you. 

she does. 

you know she does. 

philippa relents, letting you bring her hand to your neck, resting her fingers, feather light, against your pulse point. you stand there, hand curling around her wrist, keeping her fingers there. you need her to know, to feel, to remember, that you’re alive. 

you’re here, in front of her; not dead in that chair. 

“i’m okay.” you promise, “i’m alive.” 

philippa nods, but it’s disjointed. you can see, can feel, that she’s still spinning out. that she’s still half in another room, on another planet. she’s caught in a memory, a nightmare of your death, your dying. 

“talk to me.” you murmur, taking a half step forward, pressing your forehead against hers. 

you breathe evenly where philippa does not. you know your breath is washing over her cheek serving as another reminder that you’re alive. 

you’re alive. 

you’re here. 

“you died.” she says after several seconds “i watched you die. again.” her words are stiff, a forced emotionless “i-” she starts, catches herself “i, i wanted to stop the process.” she says “but your brother,” she spits the words “stopped us. i watched you struggle in that chair, i heard you screaming and i was powerless to stop it from happening. and now, tonight, you ask me to do something we have done plenty of times before and i do not plan on killing you, so there should be no reason for,” she pauses again “for this.” 

this meaning whatever emotions she’s feeling, whatever unexpected pain that was brought to the surface by choking you tonight. you feel foolish for not considering the trauma brought on by watching someone you care for, someone you love, die. philippa’s hand slips to the back of your neck “being powerless to save you,” she says “and watching you die in that chair, it was,” she stops, and you get a sense, in the silence that follows, of all the words philippa struggles to say. 

words you do not need to hear. you see them, written in her eyes, in her touch. 

so you save her. 

you lean forward and kiss philippa gently. you kiss her and keep kissing her until you feel the tension drop from her shoulders and her hand releases the edge of the desk. she pulls you closer with a hand around your waist, resting on the small of your back “i won’t ask you to do that again.” you murmur in between kisses. 

“did it not scare you?” philippa asks, leaning back on the edge of the desk, bracketing your legs with hers as leans back on one hand, the other still around your waist “to be choked.” 

“no.” you say honestly “i thought about essof iv. but here and now is so different from then. i trust you, completely. i trust you to know when to stop and to respect me if i needed to stop.” 

“and on essof iv?” 

you consider for several long seconds and then “spock believed, like i did, that the only way to get the red angel to us was to place me in direct, life-threatening danger. and in order for that to happen, no matter what i said or did, he would have to be the one to ensure that the plan was followed. so,” you swallow hard “he heard what he needed to hear to rationalise letting me die out there.” you exhale “essof iv and here, with you, are not the same. not even close.” 

“you wanted us to stop.” philippa says, looking at you, looking past you. 

“suffocating like that, being burned,” you shake your head free of the memories, refusing to let them overwhelm you in this moment “of i wanted it to stop. needed it to stop.” 

“spock let you die.” there is immeasurable fury in her eyes “he knew you wanted to stop and he let you die.” 

“he did what had to be done.” you remind her “but that, that is why what happened there, and what we do, are two totally different things. you would never hurt me in a way i didn’t want.” 

philippa is silent for several long seconds, her grip still firm on your waist and her gaze long and lost. you’re comfortable here, one hand covering her own and letting philippa sort through her thoughts, her emotions. 

she has every right to be angry at spock.

has every right to centre the blame for her trauma on him. 

but not tonight, you hope.

“do you want me to leave?” you ask, breaking the silence after several seconds. 

philippa looks confused, her grip tightening on your hip “no.” she says “do you want to leave?” 

“no.” you say “but tonight was a lot.” 

“it would be worse without you here.” philippa says, and that’s as close as she can get to 

_i love you_ or _i need you_. 

“then i’ll stay,” you promise. 

“good.” philippa says, and some of that familiar, arousing darkness is back in her voice “because i still have plans for you.” 

oh, you’re screwed, 

and you can’t wait.

**Author's Note:**

> i binged the entirey of three and a bit seasons in about four days. needless to say i am hooked. obviously this ignores how canon has framed their relationship. 
> 
> if you want to come shout at me about discovery, i'm on tumblr at 4beit. 
> 
> thank you to racethewind10 who was the recipient of all my shouting as i binged, and read through previous drafts of this fic.


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